


The Consolidated Cookery Conundrum

by JohnAmendAll



Category: The Middleman (TV)
Genre: AO3 1 Million, Cake Fic Meme, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 14:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1188609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnAmendAll/pseuds/JohnAmendAll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once again, Wendy has to deal with Lacey's knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Consolidated Cookery Conundrum

_Middleman HQ  
Two hours, forty-eight minutes after the incident._

Wendy Watson had been expecting her best friend to call her for some time. When her cellphone finally rang, it was while she was scrubbing at the back seat of the Middlemobile. She prepared herself for an awkward conversation, but consoled herself that at least it would be a change from leather polish and elbow grease. 

"Dub-dub," Lacey began, without preliminary. "I just had the weirdest dream." 

Wendy sat back on the part of the seat she'd cleaned, and let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. 

"Must've been really out there if you've got to spill your heart to me right now," she said. 

There was a fragile laugh from the other end of the line. "Yeah, you could say that. You're not busy at the moment?" 

"Slow day at the office. What's the story?" 

"I just woke up..." A ghost of suspicion briefly made its presence felt around the edge of Lacey's voice. "I don't really remember going to bed. But anyway, that's not the important thing." 

"The important thing's your dream, I got that. Tell me it wasn't another bizarre sex dream." 

"No! Well, not quite, but it was still sort of..." Lacey fumbled for the right word. "Exotic. I was in that environment-friendly carbon-neutral artisan baker's shop downtown. Dominico's." 

Wendy, who'd silently mouthed the word along with her friend, nodded. 

"You know it?" Lacey continued. 

"I've heard of it." 

"Well, I went in, and there was no-one around. But I heard a voice from somewhere at the back — no-one I knew. It was counting down. So I went to see who it was." 

Grateful that she wasn't having this conversation face to face, Wendy grimaced. "Let me get this straight. You go into an abandoned building and all you hear is a sinister voice counting down and you _don't_ run for your life? Did all those Klingon warriors die in vain?" 

"Hey, it was just a dream, Dub-Dub. Anyway, I followed the voice to a door. The moment I opened it, someone grabbed me and stuck my arm in a handcuff." 

"Kinky," Wendy said, keeping her voice carefully neutral. 

"But only one hand. Do you see? I was handcuffed _to_ someone! And guess who it was?" 

Wendy did know, but she aimed deliberately wide. "Don't tell me it was that lowlife bottom-feeder Pip again! Lacey, that's the third time this..." 

"No!" Lacey broke in. "It was your sexy boss-man, Wendy!" She sighed at the thought. "And he wasn't wearing anything. Just cake." 

"You can't wear cake," Wendy protested. 

Lacey's voice took on a soft, faraway quality. "Oh, you can. And he was. I'll never be able to look at a Swiss roll in the same way again." 

"And now, I won't, either. Thanks for that. So what happened then?" 

"He said something like, 'Please excuse my improper state of dress, miss.' More or less. I didn't care. I just wanted to..." Lacey tailed off, leaving Wendy all too able to guess just what Lacey wanted to do. And, left to her own devices, would probably have done. 

"And did you?" Wendy prompted her. 

"No. I heard someone laughing and then it all went dark. That's when I woke up." 

"Yeah," Wendy said. "You're right. That was definitely exotic." 

"So I thought I'd look it up on the Internet. Have you ever done a search for 'dreams about guys covered in cake'? Because take it from me: _don't_." 

"And instead you rang me up to talk it through. Has it helped?" 

There was a long sigh. "Yeah. I think so. Sorry to call you at work, but Doctor Barbara Thornfield, MD, PhD, always said that time was of the essence when delving into the products of the unconscious mind." 

"Not a problem. Like I said, it's a slow day here. Catch you later, Lacey." 

There was a beep as Lacey hung up. 

⁂

_Middleman HQ  
Three hours, eleven minutes after the incident._

"What's the matter?" Ida asked, as Wendy stalked into the room and set her collection of well-used cleaning materials down with a bang. "Finally run outta weed down there?" 

The Middleman, who'd been standing near the foot of the stairs looking as close as he ever did to fidgeting, turned to face her. "Have you heard from Lacey?" he asked. 

"She's fine." Wendy gave him a reassuring smile. "She just thinks it was all a freaky dream." 

"That's fortunate. It's not how I would have cared for her to see me." 

Wendy remembered her flatmate's tone of voice, toward the end of their conversation. "I think you and she'll just have to agree to differ on that one. But from my personal point of view... You don't look complete without the uniform." 

"Thank you. And for your timely intervention this afternoon, of course. If you hadn't put in an appearance just at the crucial moment, I'd probably still be there now." 

"And wouldn't that have been terrible? All alone with Lacey and only a shop full of sweet, tasty environment-friendly carbon-neutral baked products to distract the pair of you." 

"Sweet, tasty, environment-friendly carbon-neutral _mind-controlling_ baked products," the Middleman reminded her. "It's clear that Mr Dominico was preparing a nefarious plot on no small scale. Who knows how far his devious machinations might have progressed if I hadn't stumbled upon them? Quite by chance, I might add." 

"All the way if all his customers were as slow on the uptake as you," Wendy said. "Didn't you spot his goatee?" 

"What's unusual about an artisan baker wearing a beard?" 

"One that looks just like Ming the Merciless?" Wendy folded her arms. "And the Blofeld outfit? In black, even? With matching black gloves? Have you _ever_ seen anyone dressed like that who wasn't an insane evil genius trying to take over the world?" 

"Dopehead's got ya there," Ida remarked. 

"I always feel it's important not to judge people on external appearances," the Middleman said firmly. "Anyway, we've once again frustrated the plans of a decidedly unhinged supervillain and the people of America can sleep soundly in their beds tonight. And that includes you, Dubbie. You should get along home and take some much-needed rest." 

"OK. See you tomorrow." Wendy headed back in the direction of the garage, this time to collect her own car and drive home. On her way, she reassured herself that this was another success for their organisation, and things couldn't have been handled much better. Certainly better than she'd hoped was possible when she'd realised her best friend had, once again, walked straight into the middle of a covert and dangerous battle between good and evil. It was one of those habits that you couldn't really talk to someone about. Still, as the Middleman would no doubt say, all was well that ended well. 

The worrying premonition about what scene she'd end up painting tonight wouldn't go away, though.


End file.
